Rule
by himawarixxsandz
Summary: Kings and queens rise and fall. There will only ever be two true sovereigns. Love and Hate. You choose which one you're loyal to. DISCONTINUED
1. Teaser

Williamsburg, Virginia.

December, 1773.

An apprentice and a nobleman meet.

* * *

Williamsburg, Virginia.

February, 1774.

A patriot and a loyalist understand the other.

* * *

Williamsburg, Virginia.

September, 1774.

Kurogane You-ou and Fai Fluorite fall in love.

* * *

North America.

The Thirteen Colonies.

1775.

The Revolutionary War begins.

* * *

History has recorded how the war ends.

How will Kurogane and Fai?


	2. Prologue: Love Story

Prologue: Love Story

My hand hovers above the paper with my quill unsteadily. Old age—and only old age—is what's making my hand tremble, because every other fiber of my being is filled with certainty that I want to record this. A love story—if I may call it that…no matter how full of sins it may be—such as this is too great to keep to oneself. That might be a sin in itself.

Why have I only decided to write it now? I smile quietly to myself as I look out the window right above my desk. The sun is bright out and I can clearly see the headstone only a few paces away. I can't quite see the name engraved upon it—even with my glasses—but I know that name better than mayhap my own. 'Tis probably that that has made me decide once and for all to do this.

I am in considerable shape, but my body is weary and I'm eager to join him—heaven or hell or wherever the Lord wishes to send us—although I'll join him when the Lord thinks I am good and ready to. But until then, I hope that I may be able to finish writing this—perhaps in future generations love no matter gender or race or age will be permitted.

But now that I've made this clear to myself…where shall I begin? I suppose that the best place to start…would be at the very beginning. The first time I ever saw him. It happened so long ago, but I can remember it as if it had just happened yesterday. We were both so young. We were both at the prime of our youth—at the peak of our virility and health.

I can see my reflection in the glass of the window. I don't need to close my eyes to be able to imagine the wrinkles fading into flawless silken skin…the chapped lips are slender and pink…the bright, blue eyes are brighter than the sky…the white hair falls back into pale spun gold too beautiful to cover with a powered wig…

And I can see him. I can see his inky hair—shorn like men of this time nearly never cut their hair to—his red eyes…red like blood. I can see the Floridian sun-bronzed skin…feel the Spanish fire course through his veins…

'Tis as easy as taking a breath of air to remember. And now I know it will be just that easy to write it. As I smile to myself once more, I fix my glasses upon age-crinkled nose and begin to write.

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know. I said I'd finish Secrets first, but when a song inspires a scene in my head, that song is forever stuck until the scene is written out. Therefore, I cheated and started this. Starting a story when I haven't finished another is one of my many bad writer's habits that I must someday break. But until then, I'm sure some of you are enjoying my bad habits. And the song that's been stuck and persistingly annoying with insisting that I write this scene is Love Story by Taylor Swift. Not only that, I also am in love with this song. This song is the reason Rule and Enslaved even exist, so if you're really looking forward to these two fics, you should mentally thank Taylor Swift--whom I love. _

_I've just finished wrapping my gifts, so I'm in a rather Christmas-y mood and I really don't know why I'm even telling you all this. Anyhoo. Review Button. _


	3. Talk

Chapter One: Talk

I bow low and right myself, smiling. "Please, sit, sit. I'm afraid that my parlor is hardly anything compared to the splendid grandeur of your own, but a bachelor like myself has not much use for entertaining without a lady wife."

Sakura and the dark-haired woman behind her—Souma, I believe her name is—take a seat on the armchairs on either sides of the settee. I myself sit down across from them—space enough to remain polite to two young ladies; one married, another engaged—and continue to smile. They settle their large skirts and adjust themselves before looking up demurely at me. "And tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this wonderful call?"

Souma looks at Sakura, and when the young girl does not answer, Souma takes it upon herself to reply to my inquiry. "An engaged young woman cannot call on her fiancée on a dreary afternoon such as this? My mistress is only curious as to assure that a young man such as yourself isn't lonely on this rainy day."

My smile felt stiff and inconvincible across my face, but I know that if Souma is continuing to look at me normally, and Sakura is staring out the window as usual, then my smile is fine and I have nothing to worry about. It takes all the willpower I have to endure the long afternoons as of late. I am supposed to be courting Sakura Kinomoto, daughter of some such wealthy nobleman, who also happens to be betrothed to me.

Her father apparently is under the misconception that I am a suitable bachelor to wed his only daughter to because of my considerable wealth, and my talent in being a doctor, when in this age—and considering how things have fallen—any fool with a surgeon's knife is able to become a doctor.

I also have not asked Sakura herself how she feels about the marriage—in other terms, how she feels as a fourteen-year-old girl marrying someone a decade older than her and if she even has a care about the matter at all, because from my observances, she really…doesn't. Or if she does, she does not really…show it very often at all.

And this is not to say that I do not pay attention to Sakura. I do. I'm attentive as I can be…for the…two times we've seen each other. I am just never left alone with her—as is the custom—and that Sakura is a rather…quiet…young lady. Also, because of the recent talk of rebellion and this and that and other politics in which I am not interested in, Sakura's father has told me that if something is to happen, he shall request that I bring Sakura back to our Mother country straight away.

"Then I am indebted with gratitude," I say courteously. I glance at Sakura, only to see that she turns to me with a jolt and smiles dazedly.

"Pardon me," she says sweetly. "I'm rather wearied from my expenditures last night at the Governor's Palace. I had a busy day—what with wedding preparations and dress-fittings. Do excuse me."

I smile and say nothing as she stands up and maneuvers the plentiful ruffles of lace and fresh silk of her skirts around the plush chairs and tables and rugs of the room. Souma's eyes narrow the slightest bit as they watch her leave and she turns to me with a ladylike sigh. "I do wish to know how the mistress intends to keep herself dry—the rain has been coming down in such a storm as of recent days. What say you, Mr. Fluorite?"

I raise an eyebrow and bring my arms up to rest on the gilded armrests of the chairs and smile in a placating manner at Souma. "I am more than certain that this rain will let up and we shall have the most abundant amount of sun and sky—a lovely Virginian spring."

"I dearly hope so," she sighs again. "The mistress has been looking so full of boredom during this past week. If the sun does not come soon, then I'm terrified—just terrified—that she will just faint from lack of air."

"Is Miss Sakura truly that frail?" I ask quietly.

"I'm not precisely certain, but she surely seems so, doesn't she?" Souma smiles more calmly now. "But enough of that, Mr. Fluorite. How are your works going? I've heard that there's been an awful bout of the flu going around north of Williamsburg. Are the house calls keeping you awake at night?"

"There has been—but it isn't serious. I've lost no one to the flu as of yet…however, there were a few mothers here and there who gave way during childbirth," I say, trying not to relay the pain that pricked within me when I said those words. "But their babies were more or less healthy."

"Ah," Souma says sadly. "How tragic."

"Mm, indeed."

We sit in silence for a minute, until I remember. "My deepest apologies…my manners have escaped me. Would you like some tea? I do not have a maid as you know, but I do know how to serve it myself."

Souma laughs. "A bachelor serving tea? There is something I haven't heard of. Yes. Some tea would be much welcome." As I stood up and went to gather the tray and materials, I here Souma ask, "What is your opinion of the recent rise in taxes? The king has raised the price of many items…such as tea, too…"

I nonchalantly place the tray on the table between our seats. "I'm more concerned about the recent Tea Act. Our traders will not take kindly to having the tea trade monopolized. Pardon, how do you take yours?"

"With sugar," she answers. "Yes…I, too, have heard Mr. Shiyu, my husband, and his colleagues discussing it over dinners. It is…I don't believe that it is a matter of such pressing concern…?"

"Mayhap," I say, pouring in the sugar and offering the china cup out to her.

Souma sipped the hot liquid and then stared at the cup. "You know…wouldn't it be more suitable for you to have a silver set? It would be so much more lovely…and Sakura would soon need her own to bring to your house after the wedding, too…"

I silently keep to myself how I highly doubt that Sakura knows how to serve tea. I also have been having misgivings about our wedding night, as I don't know how to bring myself to bed someone ten years younger than me and who is purer than the virgin snow. But if we do not have children, there will be talk.

"Speaking of which, how are matters between you and Mr. Shiyu, anyhow?" I smile as I see a slight coloring flash across Souma's face and her hand moves instinctively to her stomach.

"Our health is thriving and content is all we are," she says, clearing her throat.

"I'm glad to hear so," I smile wider as I see Sakura tumble back into the room, her cheeks flushed and an expression bright enough to make up for the lack of sunshine.

Her lace cap is slightly askew, and there is a sprinkling of raindrop imprints on her sleeves, but otherwise than that, she is perfectly prim as she crosses over to stand beside Souma and says, "My most sincere apologies for intruding like this, but I was just speaking with Miss Daidoji, and she said that she was just planning to visit your husband's workshop."

Souma looks to me and raises an eyebrow inquiringly. "Mr. Fluorite? I see since Miss Sakura isn't drenched from head-to-foot, this means that the rain has let up considerably. It wouldn't do much harm to visit my husband, would it? He has a new apprentice, and Miss Daidoji and her elder sister are only in town every so often."

I try to look pleased. "That would be well and good. Just allow me to fetch my coat for a minute and I will be back in a few seconds."

For one reason or another, I feel empty as I put on my trihorn hat and button the brass buttons of my coat. The marriage is one of convenience, but in these times—as I've learned from my late parents—friendship is really the most one can expect from their husband or wife. Sakura is a kind girl, and she will make a good wife and mother. The only thing I'm worried about is her health, but I _am_ a doctor…most likely the reason her father chose me in the first place.

I return to see that Souma and Sakura are already ready to leave beside the door. I excuse myself and slip between them to open the door and see them out. The rain has indeed let up, but the roads are no less slick and wet. Nearly ever person we pass by in the street tips their hat, or waves to me in greeting and recognition.

I merely smile and greet them back. That is all I've ever been doing, just as all the so-called rebels…or what has begun of them…all they've been doing is talking. They haven't acted on their brash words. They've merely been talking.

* * *

_A/N: I know it's short. And it's probably boring--at least it was to me--but historical fictions usually do start out this way....or maybe I'm just not good at writing them. Anyhow, if the whole relationship-thingy with Sakura and Souma and Kusanagi and Tomoyo is confusing, it'll become clear--at least I hope it will--in the next chapter...which is also when the story gets a little more bearable, because Kuro-sama comes in then. _


	4. Fire

Chapter Two: Fire

Kusanagi Shiyu is one of Williamsburg's most accomplished silversmiths. It's known that he's of slight Spanish descent, and that he has two younger female cousins who call on him from New York and stay with him for months at a time. The Misses Tomoyo and Amaterasu Daidoji are young noblewomen sent to the colonies for one thing or another. Tomoyo is well known to be Sakura's closest female companion.

His workshop is connected on the side of his green house—most times Kusanagi keeps watch over his apprentices and occasionally makes the often specially requested wedding ring or tea set. He also forged one of my many prized inkstands. He opens the door, kisses Souma's hand and Sakura's, and bows to me. "Dr. Fluorite. This is a surprise."

"It wasn't planned, but your lovely wife and Miss Kinomoto insisted so strongly—how was I supposed to refuse such demands?" I briskly shake his hand and survey the vigorous young men quietly wielding hammers and raining careful, calculated blows on the shining metal.

There are tables filed against the brick walls of the workshop, save for one, which held a cavernous-appearing fireplace. It is already December, but it isn't as cold as it might have been. I noticed Souma's and Sakura's mufflers and furs, but I myself am…strangely adapted to the cold.

"Sakura!" The high clear voice is almost completely ignored once the young girl that it belongs to nearly careens towards Sakura. Tomoyo Daijdoji's dark hair is slightly falling out from beneath her satin cap, and she clasps Sakura's gloved hands. Tomoyo looks up at her brother. "Kusanagi, where's Syaoran? Sakura wants to see his…latest piece."

Kusanagi clears his throat and gestures to me. Tomoyo smiles brightly and lets go of Sakura's hands. "My apologies…?"

"Dr. Fluorite," I say.

"My apologies, Dr. Fluorite, my sister and I've just arrived and I haven't seen Sakura for so long. Might I be so intrusive as to ask how you and the Miss Kinomoto are acquainted?"

"She's my fiancée," I inform.

It looks like the color drains awfully from Tomoyo's face, even though her smile remains intact and whole. "Pardon?"

"Miss Kinomoto is my fiancée," I repeat. "We're to be wed in one year."

"Oh," Tomoyo's smile looks as frozen as mine, now. "How splendid. Sakura, darling? Could I speak to you for a minute in private? Oh, and I see Syaoran over there, too." Tomoyo hooked her arm through Sakura's, "Excuse us."

Souma sighs and exchanges glances with Kusanagi, who unsuccessfully looks like he's trying not to look guilty. "Ah," he says, as if struck with sudden inspiration as to veer the subject from whatever matter his sister has come up with. "It near left my mind—I have a new apprentice. He's my cousin, and my uncle—his father—has just died. He was a blacksmith and had taught my cousin his trade."

"There is something unheard of," Souma says to me—as she's obviously heard this from her husband once before. "A blacksmith and a silversmith?"

"How many years is his apprenticeship?" I ask.

"Just three," Kusanagi says, "As the smiths are closely-related in skill, and my cousin has talent that I haven't seen in anyone—not myself nor my father—in quite a rare while." He looks over to the apprentices, "Kurogane! Come! There's someone I'd like you to meet."

I narrow my eyes, straining to see in the slightly shadowed lighting of the workshop. A tall figure stretches up to full height somewhere in the background—somewhere where I didn't even notice until my attention was brought there. The man—to be an apprentice he can't be more than eighteen—is rather…very…immensely tall.

But he's good-looking—handsome. His features are fierce like Kusanagi's—clearly Spanish-inherited—but there's something about them that is unlike the silversmith's…they're more…I'm not sure…mayhap it's his eyes…his eyes are captivating—red like the blood I've seen so many times from my patients…from my brother.

"What do you need now, Kusanagi?" he grouses, glaring at me.

My eyebrows instantly shoot up. Either this man was roughhousing rather than practicing the trade his late father was attempting to teach him, or he's just rude and his manners are greatly lacking. An apprentice never speaks to his master like that.

Oddly, Kusanagi doesn't seem fazed and merely nods to me. "This is Virginia's best doctor—Dr. Fluorite, this is my nineteen-year-old cousin, Kurogane You-ou."

"You flatter me, Mr. Shiyu," I say, and smile at Kurogane. "And isn't your age a year over the usual standard age for apprenticeship?"

"Quiet, you," Kurogane growls. "Might I go back to work now?"

For once, my smile feels real. I know I'm really not supposed to, but I find myself laughing slightly in a situation like this. "Forgive me," I say. "'Tisn't everyday you find an apprentice this eager to start his work up once again. 'Tis refreshing, I must say."

Kusanagi grins. "Yes…well…Kurogane was the one who approached me and requested the contract. I suppose he thinks that 'tis the least he could do after we agreed to take him in after Uncle's death."

Kurogane merely continues to scowl—this time at Souma.

"I find it ambitious and daring," I say, smiling softly at the boy. His eyes widen and he glares harder—probably his hardest at me. When my smile doesn't slide off as he most likely expects it to, he gives a rather comical "harrumph" and trudges back to his workplace without a word of pardon.

I look bemused to Souma. "He's unique."

"Isn't he?" she says exasperated, but amused as well.

* * *

Souma insisted that I was trusted enough to accompany the Miss Kinomoto home without the presence of another lady, and so she remained at her home, while I walk Sakura to her own house. Tomoyo, however, insisted on coming with, while also reminding the both of us about the Christmas Ball at the Governor's Palace on the eve of Christmas day.

"We must have a brand new dress made for you," Tomoyo exclaims happily to Sakura as we walk the rainy streets. The Miss Daidoji looks up at me with round, dark eyes—the compelling eyes of a young girl. "Shouldn't Miss Kinomoto have a brand new dress of the latest fashions to wear? She will debut her engagement at the Palace, is she not?"

Sakura slides a discreet glance to me and I smile. "Of course. I shall make it my Christmas gift to her. I know of a skilled dressmaker that will be more than happy to fit such a lovely young woman." The expression on Sakura's face is a less than successful attempt at feigning delight.

"That sounds perfect," Tomoyo clasps her gloved hands together and turns to Sakura, "Doesn't it, Sakura?"

"Oh yes," Sakura replies, flashing the quickest of smiles I myself have ever seen. "Utterly delightful. I'm so looking forward to it, Dr. Fluorite."

"I am more than certain an engaged young woman might call her fiancé by his personal name," I tease lightly.

"Fai," she smiles.

Tomoyo is eyeing me rather significantly now and we pause mid-walk in front of Sakura's house. A woman—whom I presume to be her maid—opens the door and lets Sakura and Tomoyo in. I tip my hat and turn around to begin the walk home. The December cold is sharp through to my skin, but somehow I'm not cold.

Somehow…I cannot get the image of Kusanagi Shiyu's cousin from my mind. I veer of the path leading to my house and go around to the stables east of the town—they are not far out of Williamsburg, but they are owned by a separate man and his brother.

These two brothers care for the two thoroughbreds I bought from them when I first arrived in Williamsburg. I visit them often; although there is a limited amount of space and time I might ride them due to the calls I receive and my availability to doctor the townspeople.

The man that is the true horse breeder is Subaru Sumeragi…he's younger than I—only twenty years of age, but his talent and keen sense for the animals are so suspended that it is rare as the fine quality of the beasts he breeds himself. His twin brother, Kamui, is a writer of one of the many Virginian newspapers. As of late, he's been reporting about the small talk of rebellion—gossips—throughout the colony…colonies. I've yet to ask him which side he would take upon.

As for the side I will take upon—if I have need of taking upon a side—it will undoubtedly be that of the King. Of the Mother country. If it weren't for the King…and his father before him and perhaps even his father before him, these colonies would not exist and we would not be here. If we break away from that…what form of loyalty would we maintain to anything? Any righteous system? Providence meant for a subject to be loyal to his respective sovereign.

Much like how I must remain true to my engagement with Sakura Kinomoto—no matter if there is no love between us as there clearly is with Souma and Kusanagi…Sakura is a young girl, and even if she might not see me as someone she might come to love as a man…she might at least love me as a companion.

If only I can find it in myself to do the same.

Subaru is combing the glossy black fur of Fuego—one of mine. Both my thoroughbreds are male…Fuego's coat is common enough amongst his breed, but it is Nieve that whose appearance is rare. I value both equally, but…I somehow have more in common with Nieve. The Spanish breeders who traded them with Subaru named them. Nieve, like his name suggests, is the purest white…and Subaru puts up the largest of fusses to keep him that way. Unlike most thoroughbreds, Nieve has spirit…he can be fierce when he wishes to…but most of the time…Fuego is the one that has to…shove him—literally, almost—into resisting and putting on speed.

"Well," Subaru grins as I come toward him, leaning my arms on the fence. "Look who deigned to show up after a week has gone past. Fuego was growing restless, so in the end Kamui took to riding him. Nieve, on the other hand, has gained an apt admirer."

"Really?" I put my boot up on the middle ledge and push myself over the wooden fence. "Who? Is he from Williamsburg? I don't recall anyone who could have the time to come out this far from town."

Subaru tucks away the brush, and I commence stroking Fuego's glossy mane. "I haven't the young man's name, but his appearance is one you shan't miss. He's as rare as Nieve, only more Fuego in terms of looks. Large and burly and dark-haired. He must be of Spanish descent, in my opinion—knew the meanings of your horses names off the top of his head."

"It must be Kurogane You-ou," I say with a rise of my eyebrows. "He is Kusanagi Shiyu's younger cousin come to stay after the death of his late father."

"Curious," Subaru remarks. "On another note, how is the Miss Kinomoto faring?"

"Well and good, thank you." Subaru nods and waves a hand, jogging back to the brick house a ways out from the front fence. The ruffles of his white shirt blow around his elbows and neck as the wind breezes around them. He and his brother are clearly bachelors, albeit two of the most eligible in Williamsburg.

I hold Fuego's head between my hands and he scowls at me. I'm not quite positive if horses have the ability to make expressions, but when Fuego whinnies, I _am_ quite certain that he is calling me a fool. I do think his expression says so. But then again, I might be wrong.

"A married man in one year," I sigh to him—for with my horses, I need not smile—running my icy fingers through the heated mane. His ears twitch as I stroke them. "And to a girl…not that 'tis rare at all…but honestly…I shall have to bed her…I doubt she even knows how to cook…although she'll most probably bring a maid or two along with her." Fuego snorts, and I laugh. "A husband in one year and most likely a father in nine months…if the baby does not live healthily—if Sakura does not—I might have to take you and Nieve west and pray that the Indians will take us."

I smile slightly as it looks like Fuego is raising an eyebrow incredulously even if he has none. "Or perhaps I'll just go along myself…Nieve will want to stay with you…shall I find both of you a pair of pretty mares?"

Fuego scowls and turns his head away haughtily. "All right…all right," I laugh. "I kid. Where is Nieve, speaking of him? Why did Subaru not bring him out, hm?" I rub Fuego's contoured neck. "Come…we'll see him for ourselves, then, shall we?"

It isn't to say that I'm surprised that Kurogane is talking with Kamui, but I am surprised to see that he is doing so while appraising Nieve in the stables. "Good afternoon, gentleman," I say. "My apologies if I am interrupting anything, but I was wondering if I could see my horse." I look to Kurogane. "And I didn't know apprentices are let out so early? 'Tis only after dinner."

Kurogane glares at me in a manner so reminiscent of Fuego, that I swear I can feel Fuego snorting in alert. "I was merely taking a walk," Kurogane says, "And visiting the stables. I realized not that this horse was yours."

I glance at Kamui, who shrugs, and back to Kurogane. "I could use a riding companion. If you wish, you may saddle Nieve and come along with me. If you are late coming back, I will accompany you back and explain to Kusanagi that the blame is mine."

Kurogane frowned. "And why would you take that bother?"

"I might as well enjoy my remaining days as a bachelor, shouldn't I?" I air. "Besides, Mr. Shiyu is a close friend of mine—as is his wife. It would give me pleasure if I made his cousin welcome in Williamsburg."

The apprentice exchanges a look with Kamui and then shifts his eyes to me once more. "Very well. I shall saddle the horse myself—Nieve, his name is?"

"Yes. I take it you know the name's reason."

"I do," Kurogane says quietly, accepting the bridle and saddle for Nieve from Kamui, who discreetly excuses himself and bows out of the stable.

I take my own saddle and bridle down from the iron cast hooks on the wall and begin to place and fix them on Fuego. 'Tis quite in the stable, save for the occasional whinnies and snorts and neighs of the horses around us. There is of course no hearth in the stable, and therefore, 'tis considerably cold…but for the oddest of reasons even my medical learning cannot fathom…I don't feel the cold. Contrarily…I feel strangely…hot. Flushed. Mayhap even feverish. I do not know if Kurogane feels the same. I want to ask him…it would be practical to do so…but something keeps me from it.

"Are you set?" he asks abruptly, leading Nieve out of his stall.

I realize that I was thinking so deeply that I delayed putting on the leather proprieties onto Fuego. He is glaring at me again, and I can only smile. "Forgive me…I suppose I was daydreaming—quite foolish of a soon-to-be wed man, isn't it?"

"Indeed," huffs Kurogane. "Here…let me assist you." He moves to stand behind me, and I can feel his body heat on my back. I notice that he isn't wearing much despite the obviousness of the winter—but I do know that he is from colder temperaments and more than likely does not think much of a Virginian December…especially this early on.

I excuse myself swiftly and slide out away from him, content on watching him saddle Fuego up, while I have a quick moment with Nieve. His large brown eyes greet me warmly, and he snorts towards Fuego. I laugh quietly. 'Tis rare should two male horses have such a bond.

"He's done," Kurogane says. "He's a fine one, too. Are they brothers? I know they might haven't shared a sire, but might've they shared a mare?"

"Not brothers, they are," I reply, passing Kurogane and stroking through Fuego's mane with both hands. "But they are close…one cannot possibly know the meaning of animals being friends until one meets these two. Originally, I intended only to buy Nieve…but Fuego would guard him until he nearly bit Subaru's and Kamui's hands off." I smile. "In the end, I decided to have both. They are such opposites, but they make a lovely pair."

Kurogane gazes at me intensely. "They do." He takes Nieve's reins and proceeds to lead him out the stable door. I watch him go, one of my hands remaining on Fuego's neck faintly. He has left this enclosed space, and the human heat should have left with him, but there is still the strongest of fires within me.

Fuego whinnies at me. I turn to him and smile. "I am not a fool."

* * *

_A/N: The part where Fai says it'd "pleasure" him if he made Kurogane feel welcome gave me such beautiful inappropriate-for-a-fourteen-year-old's-mind images......if only.....but! we'll get there eventually....and for those of you two lazy to look up Fuego and Nieve, or have had the pleasure of NOT being forced to take Spanish, they mean Fire and Snow. And due to the "colonial speech" if any of you can find any more innuendos, I'd be glad to snicker over them through PMs and reviews with you.....how I do love fangirlsnickering......_

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_Oh, and when Fai talks about the apprentices being let out and how it's only after dinner--just a quick historical reminder--they had dinner at like 2 in the afternoon....what we think of as dinner was thought of as supper._


	5. Thoughts

Chapter Three: Thoughts

I put down my quill and regard the words that I've written so far—the pages that've been inked with the earliest of our beginnings…the very first and most innocent of our meetings…for the meetings to come are more than disgraceful. No matter how much I now believe—or convince myself—that the Great Lord wishes us to love whomever we choose to love…past gender and race…it still does not forgive what we did. Even if our love was as pure…as…passionate…

We were young. I smile to myself, even restraining a chuckle, as I thought of exactly how young and passionate and foolish we were. Those thoughts are the hardest to restrain—those memories…'tis true that I remember the times we conversed endlessly and bantered eternally…but the memories that are etched the most boldly into my mind is the first night…the first night…were we the first men that committed such a travesty?

All I must do is close my eyes and I can see his bared chest…the bronzed skin…I must only close my eyes and I can feel his heat upon my body…feral and instinctive…feel my legs gripping his waist…I can so easily recall the primary piercing pain…but even easier is it to remember the intense pleasure…sharp and gentle…rough and smooth…opposites such as ourselves.

I shake my head to myself. 'Tis such like an old man to reminisce on the nostalgia of his exploits during his younger days. But I do remember my surprise when I saw how well he rode. Nieve was hard accustomed to anyone save for Subaru, Kamui, and myself and yet, here was he—a complete stranger—riding the thoroughbred as though 'twas fair game for all.

After we rode awhile, Kurogane simply outbursts his lateness back to the workshop, jumps from Nieve's back—saddle and all still on—and utterly runs out from the fields, leaving me to unsaddle the horse he insisted on riding. He wasn't known to me for his responsibility and punctuality—with great emphasis on the latter.

But soon it was December 16, 1773.

The colonies were in an uproar. Williamsburg was no exception.

* * *

I stand in the Shiyu household, in their parlor, with my one hand resting on the table and my other holding the article that Kamui has written about the Boston Tea Party—as it is now dubbed. I am doing all this while listening to Kusanagi rant about the foolishness and so on of the Sons of Liberty.

"I cannot believe this!" Kusanagi roars. Souma has taken Sakura and Tomoyo out for the day, and the only woman present—through insistence that she is—is Amaterasu, Kusanagi's older cousin. Kurogane is within the house, but he hasn't partaken in the conversation—or debate, as it is becoming. Kamui is also present, mainly because—as I suspect—he is most likely Amaterasu's beau.

"Cannot believe what?" I ask tiredly. "That the Sons finally reacted—as many expected them to—outrageously to the Townshend Acts? After all, the Sons haven't exactly been known for their leniency towards anything that dares upset them." My tone mocks.

"I respected them at the least!" Kusanagi says. "Even if what they do to citizens is…less than honorable…I respected their cause…if not agreed. But this…I refuse to believe this is right—not for the tea or some such…but for the rest of the colonies. I wager my entire worth that not a single one of the Sons thought about how this would affect others."

Kamui exchanges glances with Amaterasu. She clears her throat and stands up. "Cousin," she says, "Gentlemen, if you will be so kind as to excuse me. I believe I shall call on one of my acquaintances. I'll be back in an hour or so—I may meet up with Souma. Good day."

"I'll escort you," Kamui says, following her out the door.

Kusanagi sits down and puts a head in his hand. "And now, those here in the colonies are rapidly taking sides. Loyalist Tories…and Patriots," he snorts, "of all things to name it. If war breaks out—"

"War?" I interrupt. "Forgive me for barging in, but wouldn't you say war is a bit…extreme for a matter such as this? The Sons are a group that made a mistake. Nothing more. In a matter of months—perhaps even weeks—I do think that—"

"That what?!" Kurogane's voice bellows in, as he himself bursts into the parlor, his expression absolutely lethal.

"Kurogane!" Kusanagi shouts, just as angry. "Excuse yourself!"

Kurogane ignores him. His eyes are too focused on me. "How would you feel if your work was affected by those acts? Your gold and silver must pour in by the tons from all the people dying in this country from sickness!"

Kusanagi's eyes widen, but before he can even open his mouth, I myself have already stood up and have faced Kurogane. "I dare you to repeat what has just slipped your mouth, boy."

"I'll do as I please," Kurogane says flatly.

"Watch your tongue," I snap. "My work requires materials as much as yours. The bandages, the medicines, the bottles and towels and blankets…the certain solutions and chemicals…are these as free as the moon? Are they?!"

Kurogane looks as though he wants to hit me. He yells, "Silence!" and proceeds to wheel around and storm up the stairs.

The parlor rings with the echo of his voice for a second, and then both Kusanagi and I collapse into our respective chairs. Kusanagi looks at me apologetically. "Fai, I offer you my sincerest apologies. I hope you can forgive him. He's none but nineteen…'tis a rebellious fire, but once he matures, it'll be doused with age."

"We were all young once," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady.

Kusanagi sighs. "Yes, but Kurogane seems 'younger' than usual ever since the death of his father. My uncle was a very…bold man and I know as fact that were he still alive, he would be encouraging whatever side Kurogane took. "

"My intentions are not to pry," I say cautiously, "But I assume his mother has long ago passed away?"

"She died giving birth to him."

Common. A story like that is so very common. "My condolences," I murmur. "He is still in mourning for his father, then?"

Kusanagi smiles at me oddly. "My cousin has never been one to hang on to past tragedies. You can see for yourself that Kurogane is very much racing through life as he pleases without a single fear of death. Mrs. Shiyu and I are terrified that his mouth will one day be the cause of a noose around his neck."

I glance at the set of stairs the apprentice had just stormed up. The fire that flamed again within me when we briefly shouted at the other was frightening. Fire and I had a past never forgotten and a past disagreeable—although the description must be one of the greatest understatements heard. "He'll grow," I say, in what is meant to be a comforting voice.

Kusanagi rubs his eyes with a hand. "He hasn't a choice. Nor do I." He turns his eyes on me curiously. "I do not mean to put you in an obligatory position, but I wonder if you happen to know where Kurogane continues to repeatedly sneak out to? He has been delaying his apprenticeship work time and time again, and the men that've commissioned specialties for their wives this holiday season are asking me why theirs hasn't been finished yet. As troublesome as he is, my cousin is the only one who can copy my style, and therefore, has been a large help to me."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm afraid I don't." And I don't. I had a suspicion as to where he might be slipping to, but I don't _know_. "If you wish, I could speak to him about—confront him at the least. It does well for a young man to be spoken to by someone other than his legal guardian."

"You may try," Kusanagi says wearily. "I'd not blame you if the attempt is futile, however. Souma has tried…Amaterasu has tried and fought with him endlessly…Tomoyo succeeds at times…I have all but given up…perhaps a fresh face with help."

I look up at the foreboding staircase, wondering if I am about to commit an act toward my own death by volunteering to do this. But Kusanagi is one of my closest friends, and I feel compelled for some reason to assure that the thin thread binding this young man with the only family he now has does not break.

I reach the second level quietly, hearing the tiny creaks of the floorboards beneath my feet. I have been in this house time enough to know which room Kurogane must be staying in. 'Tis the room farthest near the windowsill at the north wall of the house…at the very last of the hall. I knock.

There is now answer.

I knock once more.

Still, there is no reply. I cross myself and open the door, hoping to dear God that he hasn't done what I think he may have done and—

He has done it. His window is swinging open and I am not quite sure how he managed to get himself down without a rope or cord of some sort, but the matter is that he has done it—one way or another—and 'tis I who must relay the news to Kusanagi, whom I know will be more than simply irked.

I know that the Good Lord above will be forgiving of this time, for a time like this gives liberty for an oath, does it not? Or mayhap I should have thought of this before, "Damn him and all his children to come," had slipped from my mouth.

'Tis only because of my kindly patience that I restrained myself from jumping out that aforementioned window, finding the boy and whipping him within an inch of his life. 'Tis only because of that patience that I'm able to calmly and composedly walk down the stairs and brave Kusanagi's wrath for an immature wretch whose backside and all else I shall thrash so thoroughly until he can no longer sire children nor sit a saddle—whether astride or sidesaddle.

Surely, God will empathize.

* * *

After another brief show of resign to his fate, Kusanagi nodded and I took off for the stables and Kurogane, who I expected to be once again idling with the horses, and most likely stealing longing looks at Nieve. I truly do not understand the boy's fascination with the horse. If he loves animals so much, why did he not become a breeder such as Subaru?

I do agree that Nieve is an amazing animal—rare and beautiful—but not so much that he requires an obsessive admirer every single day. I cannot begin to fathom what may possibly be occurring within his mind, and yet I'm taking on the challenge of attempting to persuade him to stop this absurd waywardness.

When I reach the stables, Kurogane is sitting against the fence, his knees level with his chest and he has no coat. His hat is pulled over his eyes and he doesn't move when I jump over and stand beside him. The winter wind breezes through my hair, loosening the piece of ribbon that holds it back. "Everyone has their opinions," I say quietly. "Do you blame your cousin and I for having ours?"

"No." His voice is husky as he slowly takes off the trihorn and places it against one knee. He looks out toward the cluster of wooden stables surrounding the main brick house. "I do not."

I wait for him to continue.

He stands up and towers over me, and from this angle, I can so clearly see how strongly the features of his Spanish ancestors reside within his face and body. His throat constricts as he swallows hard. "But you and Kusanagi spoke as though 'twas wrong to want anything more from the king…to want more than merely loyalty."

"You'd not be loyal to your king?" I ask apathetically.

"I'd not give my loyalty to a king who does not respect me."

I snort. 'Twas rude to do, but his words…I couldn't help it. "I disagree. You'd not give your loyalty to a king who doesn't do as you wish him to. That isn't a king. That is called a puppet. You might as well not have a king at all, then."

Kurogane looks down at me with odd eyes. "Why must we have a king in the first place? Haven't you wondered that? Have you never asked yourself that?"

"Why would I?" I say with the quietest of incredulities. "Without a king there is no one to bestow order or decree safety…there would be none to decipher for us right or wrong or—"

"Citizens aren't children!" Kurogane stresses. His voice has risen. "Simply because one man hasn't a right to bear arms for the fact that he isn't a soldier does not mean he is none more educated—none more right or wrong. There is a difference between wisdom and education, between training and talent."

I narrow my eyes. "All men have different opinions—different thoughts. If there is no king, then there is no one to overrule all the difference and choose and command which choice would be the best."

"Pray tell, did God choose the king or did the king choose himself? How are we to know if the king's decision is the right one? Why should we only obey?!"

I do not speak. I know not what to say in response.

Kurogane scowls with such hardheadedness that it reminds me greatly of Fuego. "Why could we not express those different thoughts and opinions? What harm could it do? Why must we obey someone we do not even _know_?"

"Then why even obey God?" I say stoically.

"Because God is our maker," Kurogane hisses. "Who is George the third to you? To me, he is none but a fat, lazy ass that resides in an overstuffed chair each and every day with a crown upon his head and ample food within his stomach—not that the organ needs it."

"I'd like to see you attempt to rule a country and its colonies and then return to me and speak ill of our king. 'Tis treason," my jaw tightens and my face is inches away from Kurogane's.

"I have no king," Kurogane says softly, his eyes smoldering. "None at all, Dr. Fluorite, and you'd do well and good to keep that in mind."

* * *

_A/N: Don't tell me that you didn't completely wish that the frustration and anger between those two at the end was sexual frustration and anger. Worry not, though. Soon, it will be. By the way, I just came up with this last night, but in this story, Fai has a really superawesomelytragic past too. And it'll have a lot to do with how they're happy ending comes about. Because unlike in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight world--yes, I'm still angry...slightly...over Breaking Dawn...well not so much angry as just bleh--my characters have to actually work for a happy ending. And sex. Lol. But, not to insult SM's fans and those who liked BD....I'm just going to say what I truly think, and that is hope. Hope, because if fanfictiony drivel such as BD can be published, then it gives me hope that my stories on FP--which hopefully are not fanfictiony drivel--can be published too.....speaking of which i really should get writing on those stories and editing for my next contest deadline which is the 30th......or I could keep writing and updating supperduperfast on the KuroFai AUs......_

_Yeah. Like I really don't know which ones you're all going to advise I do. Lol. Anyhoo......._

_Review Button. _

_(Psst....I know how to play Love Story on the piano now....)_


	6. Confusion

Chapter Four: Confusion

I stare at myself in the reflection of the store's window. The snowflakes that had began to rain down just as I started on my way—of all my luck—had clung to my hair loosely, dampening it and causing the ribbon to slip slightly out of its knot. I reach up with a gloved hand and take off my hat as I enter the store.

The shop is crowded with plenty of women, but even more men, as it is nearing Christmas and not every husband such as Kusanagi is fortunate enough to have a trade in which he merely needs materials and time to forge a gift for his wife. Most of the people within are only to pick up what they've commissioned and are relieved to be out of the door in minutes. I simply hope that I too am lucky enough to do so without the misfortune of being trampled upon.

I find myself waiting in line for a good portion of the afternoon—why I had not instead requested Sakura's father lend me one of his slaves to do the errand, I honestly do not know. But when the store is finally empty and I am alone with the dressmaker, I know that I am in for either a scolding or a ridiculing. "Good afternoon, Miss Ichihara," I say.

She turns and smiles with mock simpering at me. "Dr. Fluorite. How do you fare these days? You look so well and healthy…the ladies must come calling every second of the day."

"Not since a month previously," I say with a stiff smile. "I'm engaged." I doubt she didn't already know this. There would be no other reason for a man such as myself to have commissioned such a gown. I have no daughter, sister, wife, or mother. Nor do I have a mistress.

"Of course you are," Yuuko smiles wider. Yuuko Ichihara is the only woman I can think of—the only woman in history, most likely—that has thrown a tantrum large enough to shake the colonies rules…the rules of society…to be allowed to hold a business of her own. She has argued more than once that it was not a tantrum of colossal sorts, but a mere…spirited negotiation. She even has apprentices, and they to cower when she enters the room. I admire her. And I fear her. "And who is the lovely young woman to whom you are engaged to?"

I doubt that she didn't also know that. "The Miss Sakura Kinomoto."

Her eyebrow rises. "Miss Kinomoto is a girl, Dr. Fluorite. A lovely girl, yes, but a lovely, generic, common wealthy heiress. You could find one anywhere, you know. Many of them are my customers—if this was your preference, you should have hailed me first."

"I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't insult my fiancée, Miss Ichihara. Might I have my commission now?"

She leans forward and unlike any other woman before her, has the audacity to stroke my cheek. "Now, be a gentleman, Dr. Fluorite, love." Anyone who does not know her would believe her to be a street whore…until she smacks them upside the head, thrashes them in her shed, whips them like a racing horse and then proceeds to scream for the aforementioned person to be hung for insulting her virtue and honor and so on and so forth. "You'll get the pretty gown I made in good time. But honestly, do tell me about what you've been up to."

"What could you possibly be speaking of, Miss Ichihara?"

"You're a naughty boy, Dr. Fluorite," she grins. "I can see it in your eyes so clearly." She gasps in absolute delight. "You devil! Have you taken sweet to someone? Some girl other than your fiancée? I won't tell—I swear on my honor and virtue."

I wisely do not say that her virtue is yet another aspect of her I doubted. Highly. "My dear lady, I would also greatly, greatly appreciate it if you did not speak so ill of myself. I am as faithful and true as ever to my fiancée, and she will agree that I've been the kindest and most respectable future husband—"

"You do not love her," Yuuko cuts in, her tone and expression utterly bored. She waves a hand away and pretends to yawn. "'Tis more obvious than the snow—you do not love her. At least, not as you should." She raises her other eyebrow. "The girl already has a father, Dr. Fluorite. She does not need two. And I believe she already has a brother and a mother, too. What she needs is a husband."

Before I can protest, a large black box has appeared on the counter separating us and she is fingering the lid with a smile upon her sly—but beautiful, I will admit, for even if she is now considered a spinster, I doubt spinsters receive so many bachelors per day—face. "Shall we take a look at the masterpiece I've created myself just for Dr. Fluorite's most beloved fiancée?"

"Why not?" I push through my teeth. Never before might I want to strike a lady. No matter how aggravating she might or might not be. "I'd be utterly delighted to view it. But even without doing so, I have full faith that it will be spectacular."

She smiles sweetly and opens the black lid, placing it to the side, and then commences to remove the piece of large silk veiling the folded gown from view. Once she does, I excuse myself and pull out the gown. As expected from Yuuko Ichihara, it is truly a masterpiece.

The petticoat consists of innumerable white silken ruffles, each one sheerer than the one before it and because of the see-through quality, they pile atop one another more and more until I begin to wonder where it ends and begins. For the gown—robe anglaise—the color Yuuko chose suits Sakura more than I thought a color ever could. It is the precise deep forest green of her eyes, and yet the ribbons are shot with dark pink and will go splendidly with her pale auburn hair.

There is a smaller box within the main one, and within it is the bonnet and muff—which I requested the latter to be made of fox's fur and the bonnet to be out of similar material as whatever she chose for the petticoat.

"'Tis indescribable, Miss Ichihara," I say truthfully as she packs the attire back into their respective cases. "You've outdone yourself."

"I would have outdone myself further," she grumbles, "were it not for George the Third." The way she says his name causes it to sound as though the king as done her some great personal wrong. "These taxes are limiting the entirety of my work. Why someone will not simply be off with his head, I cannot fathom."

I open my mouth, but she swiftly cuts me off. "Do not tell me to mind my tongue, nor do I want to hear about treason and this and that. This dress is coming out of your pocket and you should bow before me in thanksgiving—for I won't stoop so low as to charge you for my early Christmas gift to you." She smiles at me a little kinder as she brings out another box. "And if you tell me that I shouldn't have, then I shall box your ears."

I laugh. "Yes, yes. Now, shall I open it at this moment or do you want me to wait until the eve of Christmas Day?"

"You'll be needing it on Christmas's Eve, so I think 'tis allowable if you look into it today. Not only that, I too want to watch your reaction." She slides the box toward me and fingers the ribbon.

I half-know what 'tis to be. And my expectancies are assured as my eyes drink in the sight of yet another unimaginable Ichihara creation. Breeches of silk…the finest linen full-coat…a brand new trihorn…a modernly cut cravat and waistcoat. The stockings are especially delicate, too. And the entire shading scheme…all of it was themed in the softest of blues—soft as a whisper.

"For my eyes, I suppose?"

"You suppose correctly, Doctor." She closes the lid and ties the ribbon once again. "I've taken your money in advance, so there is no need to pay up. However…I'm expecting a new customer and I do hope you could stay for tea until he shows up?"

"I have no house calls to make…I suppose I can spare a moment." I follow her into the back room—her shop is connected to her house.

* * *

I believe I said previously how Yuuko Ichihara is the first woman I have ever wanted to strike. This remains true as the customer she so desperately wants me to meet is none other than Kurogane You-ou, with whom I had not spoken in little over a week—he hasn't visited Nieve within that time either—and I'm certain he doesn't want to begin now.

"Mr. You-ou," she smiles as she leads him to the backroom. "Sit, sit—please. How are you on this fine winter's day?"

"Cold," he looks at her oddly—as though wondering how anyone in a right state of mind could be anything but. "'Tis snowing."

"Clearly. So, why do you not inform Dr. Fluorite on why you are here?"

Kurogane's look turns even odder. "My cousins require dresses for the Christmas Ball at the Governor's Palace too, do they not? Most especially Amaterasu—she has a beau."

"Kamui Sumeragi, am I correct?" I ask quietly, gazing up at him. I don't expect him to answer, as he is probably still furious with me. But for the strangest, most inexplicable of reasons…I am…afraid that he is angry with me. I don't want him to be upset with me—no matter the reason.

"Indeed." His eyes watch me curiously—as though he himself is expecting that I am angry with him.

Yuuko smiles in a manner greatly reminiscent of a fox. "And of course, you will be attending as well, I take it?"

Kurogane's eyebrows fall into a scowl. "No."

Her mouth opens in obviously faux sorrow. "Oh! But you must! I have already constructed your attire! 'Twas my Christmas gift to you…but…now you tell me that you are not in attendance. And I've already bought the material…with my own money and spent nights and nights by candlelight—"

"FINE!" He looks a mixture of remorse and epic irritation. "I shall attend the damned ball and I shall wear whatever damned thing you have sewn me."

Yuuko giggles. "Watch your tongue, young man—else I'll have no other choice but to inform Mr. Shiyu of how you spoke two oaths in the presence of a lady."

"You're naught but a spinster," he spits.

I sip my tea.

"A spinster that you'd like to lie with."

Kurogane's tea shoots out from his mouth and onto the table. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Nothing, nothing," Yuuko admonishes. "Now, you be off with those packages."

Kurogane snatches the three boxes and fumes his way out of the shop. I truly do not want to, but I can't help but laugh as we watch him leave. Yuuko smiles and sighs as she lies back with her cup in her lap. "Is he a friend of yours, Doctor?"

"Merely an acquaintance—and not a close one even at that."

Yuuko murmurs something to herself in amusement, but 'tis uttered too soft for me to catch. "Pardon?"

"Hm? Oh, I was merely saying how you should be on your way, too. Mayhap you might be able to find pace beside Mr. You-ou if you make haste."

I stand up and look toward the door. "Mayhap."

* * *

I found that I could indeed find pace beside Kurogane once I ran as though hell was on my heels—with two loads in my arms at that. Kurogane looks down at me in surprise once I'm caught up with him. "Yes?"

"Hello," I laugh breathlessly. "I was…Miss Ichihara suggested to me that we might visit Kamui…and…" I determinedly look down at the boxes cradled within my arms as I can feel the heat of his gaze upon the crown of my head—even through my hat and cloak. "And I thought that you might like to see Nieve. I've been there every day this week and I do not recall meeting with you."

He sighs and I see his tongue flick out to wet his lips. I find myself swallowing dryly and ignoring a heat that abruptly arose in my lower body that isn't unfamiliar but is completely irrelevant as to why it would come up at this moment. "I haven't been going. Kusanagi has me hard to with the hammer…and I didn't…I thought you were angry with me. And Nieve is not my horse."

I look up at him in slight surprise. "I…was. I was. But like I myself said…everyone is entitled to his opinion and I lashed out because…well I've never heard someone so strongly held to an opinion such as yours. My apologies."

"I need to be forgiven also," he says.

I shrug. "You may visit Nieve whenever you wish. He's taken to pining after you now that you've ridden and visited him so many times before." I smile up at him. "'Tis your fault my horse no longer cares for me."

He scowls. "'Tisn't my fault."

"I merely jest, Kurogane."

His scowl deepens. "I know."

"Of course." As a doctor, I did not believe it was possible, but Kurogane's scowl is so deep it seems to affect his entire facial expression. And instead of finding it disturbing or irritating…I found it rather amusing. Very amusing. Although, he does not. But what does disturb me is the fact that I'm enjoying his company so very much. More than I enjoy Kusanagi's or Subaru's or Kamui's or even Yuuko's.

But my confusion quickly disappears. I am merely finding that Kurogane isn't as ornery as he'd first seemed and that I would do well to befriend him. That is all.

Truly. It is.

* * *

_A/N: For those of you who loved Secrets, go to my profile page and take a look at the most recent Update. Do that before you review, because I really want to know what you think. _


	7. Last Time

Chapter Five: Last Time

I had a nearby errand boy deliver the dress to Sakura, and for the next few days I truly did not do anything of much interest—there were a few house calls here and there, but mostly 'twas all simple cold and coughs and nothing that might call for fatality of any sort. Those days sped by swiftly and 'tis Christmas's Eve now before I realize.

I hailed a coach from yet another of my friends in Williamsburg to borrow for the evening and after dressing in Yuuko's gift—which suits me well, as one expects of an Ichihara creation—and set out for the Kinomoto household. Sakura's father is a wealthy ship maker, but his business has too been falling as of late due to the law that prohibited all ships save for British ones.

Tomoyo is already there in the parlor and looks at me with bright eyes. "Good evening, Dr. Fluorite."

"Good evening. I must say you look fit to be a consort of the king."

She smiles and smoothes the satin ruffles of her gown. "Thank you, but I suggest that you save your flattery for your fiancée."

I feel my own smile freeze into place, as I take a seat beside her and settle myself in to wait for Sakura to come down the white staircase at the end of the hall. I inquire Tomoyo about Amaterasu and if she'll be escorted by Kamui, and apparently yes she would, and no, Souma couldn't attend, and oh no, neither could Kusanagi.

But Kurogane could.

"Is he also escorting a lady?" I ask.

"No, he isn't." Tomoyo fixes a shining curl of purplish-black against her shoulder and looks up at me with intrigued eyes. "He and Syaoran—another one of Kusanagi's apprentices—are accompanying me and assuring that if there was to be a call for you, Sakura would then get home safely."

"I see." I give her another polite smile and lean back in the chair and watch the staircase of the first sign of Sakura. Clow Reed—Sakura's father—comes in briefly to shake my hand and exchange a few words about the matter of the Tea Party before smiling lightly and bowing back out.

Next for the family parade, Touya comes out and greets Tomoyo and me rather cheerily—which I cannot describe as normal or disturbing, because 'tis a bit of both concerning that 'tis he. I ask of him if he is an escort for a lady of his own or if he is courting anyone as of recent times, and he replies that no, he isn't, with a rather heavy scowl. He does say, however, that he will not be attending the ball, due to some circumstances that have rendered him incapable, for he will be doing some paperwork at a friend's house—at Mr. Tsukishiro's house, in fact.

"Tsukishiro," I say quietly to Tomoyo, "Where have I heard that name?"

'Tis Touya who cut in, "He's a visiting colleague. He resides near the Daidoji Misses, am I correct?"

Tomoyo nods. "Indeed." She faces me. "Mr. Tsukishiro spoke to my elder sister on matters of calling on Kusanagi, and when he heard about the Kinomoto family living her in Williamsburg, he asked if he could come along with us. He stays not far from your own house."

"Will he be returning to New York?"

"No," Touya says, his tone is laced with something that I cannot comprehend, and I can see something dark and foreboding flash across his face. "He'll be returning to Britain." The eldest Kinomoto sighs and turns his head toward the window. "His parents have affianced him with a young noblewoman there."

"That is wonderful news," I say—the way it comes out causes it to sound like a question rather than a statement.

But when Touya turns back 'round, his face is smiling—even if, painfully. "Yes. 'Tis. Truly, it is."

For a doctor, 'tisn't particularly difficult to sense an old wound unhealed, even if it isn't physical. I'm not sure what Touya has against Yukito Tsukishiro—whoever he is, since I haven't even met him—or Mr. Tsukishiro's fiancée, but whatever it is, it must've been deep.

Gratefully, Sakura comes down not long after, sparing Tomoyo and I the awkwardness of being left with Touya for any longer. Any young girl can look breathtaking in a design of Yuuko Ichihara's, but Sakura's appearance is even more galling. And any man is fortunate beyond the heavens allotment to have someone as lovely as Sakura…but somehow, I cannot feel my body reacting in any way, shape or form.

Mayhap, I've gone impotent. How I shall break this to Clow Reed when we do not produce any offspring has far escaped me.

I take Sakura's hand and brush my lips across the silky span of skin and say, "You look beyond words. Marvelous." I caress a lock of her baby fine hair—a lock that has slipped from beneath her bonnet—and attempt to keep my face straight, as I feel Touya's dark eyes glare at my hand as though he'd like to disembowel it from my body.

"Thank you," Sakura says, blushing.

Tomoyo stands up and takes Sakura's hands. "That dress truly does look fine on you. Isn't Fai such a dear? 'Tis like the dress is made so exactly for you—the color and the fit and all! You're so lucky to have a fiancé like him."

For the shortest of moments, I swear that Sakura's gaze at Tomoyo resembled that of a rifle's. "Yes, indeed I am, Tomoyo, darling," Sakura says, her voice lighter and airier than ever. "Come, Fai, is the carriage ready?"

"Yes," I raise my eyebrow at Tomoyo, but she is already staring determinedly away. I know it is unwise and foolish, but I feel somehow that she is my best route to getting through to whatever enormous-seeming mystery everyone seems to be aware of—save for Sakura—that I do not.

I put my quill down and sigh to myself. I nearly forgot that I do not only have one story to relay, but two. Two stories—both as forbidden and passionate and true as the other; only one is happy and the other tragic. I do not know how I am to write and envelop two stories at the same time, but I believe I shall try. I do have the sources. I lean to the side and take a leather bound book from my bookshelf, and untie the straps.

'Tis quite old and a good deal dusty, but the words in it are as clear as day. And even though I have this with me, this story not my own is also imprinted in my head as well as it is imprinted into this diary. And so, I shall stop with my own story for a moment and put in the scenes, sights, and smells for another.

For this, I shall need to put the date, for it differs from my own story's time:

Williamsburg. August of 1769.

The empty house of the Tsukishiro family—the Mr. and Mrs. vacationing in Britain.

Yukito Tsukishiro's bedroom.

Yukito lay naked in the bed, against the heated flesh of Touya's bare body. The pale blond head rests on Touya's wiry chest and Touya's arms encircle his own head. The blanket is thrown loosely over them and their breathing has quieted. Despite the serenity of the moment an onlooker might've felt, Yukito's eyes burn. "Do not make me do this," he whispers into the skin of Touya's chest.

"You cannot," Touya's own voice and expression are constricted. "I refuse. Please, Yukito…I love you—don't—"

"Do you hear yourself?" Yukito closes his eyes and wishes that the entire house catch fire and burn them into their graves. "You are confessing love to a man. A man. Have you no pride?"

"Love is not proud," Touya answers simply. "I lost everything except the—"

"I am betrothed to your sister," Yukito says, running a hand over his face. "Betrothed to your sister and we are both _men_," his voice breaks on the last word as all barriers are broken and the tears come loose. "God will forgive us if we stop now. Please, this is the last time, Touya, I can't—"

They both sit up and stare at each other, the raven blue eyes and the warm liquid gold filled with thousands of emotions, thousands of situations and desires and nights spent in lust and pleasure…nights spent in warmth and heat…nights spent wondering what could've come of this if one of them had been born a woman.

"Do you think that I too am not dying inside for what I'm doing behind my sister's back—no matter how young she is—with her betrothed and my closest friend? Do you know how often I ostracized myself for this?" Touya is angry now and he takes one of Yukito's wrists. "I love you. I wish I did not, but I do. Please, don't tell me that this is our last time—our last night."

Yukito shakes his head and takes off his glasses for the tears are wetting them too much. He cannot see Touya's face nor does he wish to. All he wishes for is relief from the pain. "I have to. I'm sorry. So sorry. I love you—I love you as a man, and I did not even know…I do not even know why or how…but Sakura is my betrothed…she is your sister…I have to love her in a way…I can't…"

Touya's chest has begun heaving in and out faster and faster. His mouth is open and he reaches out instantly to cup Yukito's face in his hand. "Please, don't say those words. I beg you. Never say that—"

"'Tis the truth!" Yukito says forcibly. His brow is furrowed. "Even if your father wished to for some reason break the betrothal…and you nor I were ever to be engaged…what would come from this relationship? Obviously, no offspring…no marriage…what then? There is no future."

"You are my future," Touya says quietly. "You are everything."

Yukito looks up into the dark eyes he's grown to know so well—the same eyes that he has grown up looking into, laughing with, playing and fighting with. The same eyes that have looked upon him as love was made and desires were released. "I know," Yukito says, eyes closed again. "I know. But…when my parents return…we are moving to New York. I am to continue with my schooling there. We are not to return. My betrothal with Sakura is most likely to be broken, but I am not to see you again."

Touya merely looks at him, as though all words in the world cannot do justice what Yukito has said. "No."

Yukito opens his eyes steadily. "Yes."

Touya swallows and then places his lips against the indent of Yukito's collarbone, a kiss that stretches from the throat to Yukito's lips, and then Touya looks directly into Yukito's eyes, hands on either sides of his face. "'Tis what you wish?"

"'Tis."

Touya kisses Yukito's forehead and then carefully and gently replaces the glasses upon Yukito's nose. "You'll never know how much I love you."

Yukito shakes his head and smiles a smile that cannot be described with a million words from the wisest of scholars. "I do. I know, because that is how much I love you. Please…if you can…forget me?"

"Never."

"Forgive me, then."

"Forgiven."

Yukito runs his hand over the flawless skin of Touya's shoulders and chest and stomach…for the last time…he brushes his lips over every visible part of Touya's body…and then leans into Touya to kiss his lips one last time.

* * *

_A/N: Betcha weren't expecting that one, huh? Um, well, if you were then I don't blame you as it might be a little expected. Maybe. I dunno. But even though this says the "last time" for Yukito and Touya, one must remember that this happened in 1769. Yukito comes back, and Touya's still awaiting. But anyhoo, Yukito and Touya are also there for the purpose that Kurogane and Fai don't, like, you know, put something up the wrong hole. I mean, they didn't have guides on how to do it with another guy when you're a guy yourself back then. And Yukito's there so that Fai doesn't combust with OMGITHINKILIKEAGUYISTHATEVENPOSSIBLEZOMG. And Touya should probably, you know, tell Kuro-sama that you need to give your colonial uke time to think before you jump his bones. _

_Anyhoo, review button. _

_Oh yeah, almost forgot two things. One, the song for the Yukito and Touya deal is Last Time by Trey Songz. And Two, from now on, I'll be having quote from Taylor Swift's Love Story every chapter just to show you how MUCH this story goes with that awesome song. _

_For the Prologue the feature that I wrote around was: "We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts..."  
the next few chapters really didn't have one. but if you know the lyrics well, i bet you can guess what the quote for the next chapter will be......or maybe I'm the only one obssessed with the song. Ah well._


	8. Impossible

Chapter Six: Impossible

The Governor's Palace is as beautifully adorned as anyone had expected it to be. Minuets and gavottes already have young couples taking the floor of the ballroom this night. The dance is just ending as Sakura and I enter the room. Only minutes ago, our engagement debuted. I know that 'tis more than odd that the people we told were more excited and enthused than we ourselves were.

But I can say for certain that we at least seemed bright with anticipation. That is one thing Sakura and I are alike in—we can fool as easily as we can let our true emotions display. I am not sure if 'tis a good thing or a bad one yet.

We dance one dance. Sakura matches me on the floor well. Her skill and grace has yet to be developed and refined—as I expect she has only danced for two years at the most—but the rare innocence that she seems to possess compensates for her lack of experience. 'Tis strange, but when I look into her eyes, they look back at me with far more strength that young girls of her age are supposed to have. As if she knows herself that this is only a marriage of convenience and that she has her own life to live.

If that is what she is telling me…I suppose I'll have naught to do with it and remain out of that life she'll live as best as is possible. I do love her. But as I'd love a sister or a daughter. I can't bring myself to love her as a woman. I've loved women before, but Sakura will never be one of them.

Amaterasu is indeed present with Kamui. Sakura and I share a chuckle as we watched them take the floor to themselves and remain so for a good part of the evening. They, as a pair, do indeed make splendid dance partners for one another. Tomoyo only has to appear and the young men accost her immediately—more so than is proper etiquette, I might even venture to say.

And then, lo and behold, as Sakura and I are conversing with a portly elder visiting from the north, Kurogane comes nearly from thin air and goes right ahead as to barrel through the wall of young men encircling Tomoyo within. I can see the oaths simply begging to be spilt from his tongue, but this is the Governor's Palace, there are ladies present, and doing so wouldn't be wise, as it seems, even Kurogane knows.

But as soon as the young men follow Tomoyo as she and Sakura excuse their selves to walk to the ladies lounge for attendance—and Syaoran follows—I turn around to see Kurogane clearly for the night.

And the music then seems to stop. Or rather…if it didn't stop, in my ears I heard no sound, and I can't remember any sound or anything at all existing besides myself and Kurogane. We alone, and only we. 'Tis his appearance. The shock of it.

Whatever I'm supposed to have felt when I saw Sakura come down in one of Yuuko's creation, I know I felt as I look at Kurogane. 'Twas cliché and overdone to say such, but his appearance…in Yuuko's clothes…words fail.

Everything fit him like a second skin, and at the same time, loose enough and undertone enough as to not take away from his own natural inborn breathtaking features—one could've mistaken him for Spanish born and bred. When his mouth opens to form words, I nearly expect the fiery, edged language to come pouring from his tongue.

But nevertheless, the words come—and they come in English. "Good evening," he says, bowing to me and holding out his hand.

"Good evening." I reach out to shake it, and through the gloves—even through the double obstacle of the lined gloves—I can feel something positively hot and burning…not scalding and uncomfortable, but a low, rising heat. 'Tis almost pleasant.

"Will you walk with me?"

I look up at him and stare—quite impolitely, too. "Pardon me?"

Kurogane's gaze does not falter. He merely repeats the statement. "Will you walk with me? Just around the perimeter."

I should have declined. There would've been more than one reason to do so—the cold, having to attend to Sakura…the list goes on. But at that moment, absolutely none of them occur to me. My mind is blank. All I know—all my body and mind knows—is that I must say yes. And so I do.

'Tis cold outside, but I don't feel it. Or rather, I should feel it but I can't. I don't know if 'tis because Kurogane is beside me, or because I've become numb to all feeling due to the life I've laid before me. Marriage, children, work, death. That is all I have. I know I'll come to love my children, and a friendship with Sakura at best…but not any other sort of passion. But then again, in these times…passion is rare.

"Miss Kinomoto is young," Kurogane says conversationally.

"She is old enough for marriage and to bear children. I look forward to spending the rest of my years with her. I've known her for…quite a while." Our breath fogs before our faces in the frigid air.

He doesn't reply as we continue to walk. "Do you…" I began after a great deal of silent pause, "Do you…have a sweetheart? Any young girl you are sweet on?"

Kurogane's face reddens—I doubt 'tis from the cold—and he scowls expectedly. "'Tis rubbish. I have no time for women—my cousins and Mrs. Shiyu are already more than a bother daily. Another women in my life would only cease to increase that."

I laugh. "You intend on remaining a bachelor?"

Kurogane looks down at me curiously. "No," he says shortly. "I don't know. But I refuse to marry for convenience or honor." He looks away and I simply smile to myself quietly.

"What will you marry for, then?" I stop walking as we come to the back of the Governor's Palace—the yard surrounded by brick walls. There is a place where the wall lowers far enough for one to sit upon. I go over to lean my palms atop the edge. "Love? Burning passion and lust?"

He comes to stand beside me, facing the opposite direction. "And pray tell, what is wrong with that? Why shouldn't one marry for love?"

I smile. "You sound like a fanciful young girl—her head swept up in dreams."

"I fancy nothing more than to wrench your tongue from your mouth, Doctor," Kurogane growls. "I'm only asking a simple question. Do you have an answer for it?"

"I do," I turn around to face him. "I will come to love Miss Kinomoto. Once we have children, how can you not love the mother of your sons and daughters? Love is a choice and I will make it."

He doesn't say anything, just continues to glare at me.

"That isn't the love you think of, I suppose?" I chuckle, shaking my head. "No…I suppose at your age you think love is some…wild, passionate romantic thing that takes you in—reels and allures you in—and then spits you out happy and breathlessly?"

Again, nothing he says. He only shrugs speechlessly.

We stand in companionable silence until he breaks it, "Is that impossible? In the stead of marrying and choosing to love whom you marry…love…and choose to marry whom you love?"

I glance at him and then tip my head up to give my eyes to the stars. The bright silver spots spread out over the darkness surrounding us like a dark curved blanket. I couldn't even feel the wind or cold anymore—none at all. Love…and choose to marry whom you love? That is indeed a fanciful thought. One that I could only dream of fulfilling. Rare is a man and woman who loved and then married for that love. Most went vice versa.

"'Tis not impossible…" I finally murmur. "But 'tis impossible for me."

"Why?"

I sigh, laughing. "'Tis difficult enough for I myself to find someone to love without the bonds of marriage…'tis just as difficult for someone I love to love me in return…but…I know…surely, 'tis absolutely impossible for them to continue to love me—remain with me—without the bonds of marriage once they know my past…present…future…once they know me truly."

"How do you know? Has it happened once before?" His tone nearly belies as if he already knows my answer.

"No. But I know it will," I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the night sky.

"No," Kurogane's arm brushes against my own. I look at him. "You think. You don't know. You cannot know until it happens or does not happen—that is what's impossible."

His expression is naught but searching for what my own relies. 'Tis strange to have someone look at you in that manner—look at you just to look…just to see your face and the emotions that can play across in one moment and change in another. 'Tis strange…but…'tis a brilliant experience.

"Mayhap," is all I say to that.

Kurogane returns his gaze to the sky, where mine has went again. "Will you be spending tomorrow with the Kinomoto household?"

"Yes."

"Kusanagi has been invited by Mr. Kinomoto for dinner. I'll be seeing you, then."

I smile to myself, looking down. "I suppose you will."

* * *

_A/N: Next chapter......the drama starts. Lol._

_Review Button_

_Oh, and the quote for this chapter from Love Story: "See the lights, see the party the ball gowns. See you make you're way through the crowd and say hello."_


	9. Ignore

Chapter Seven: Ignore

December, I write with my quill. January. February. Those three months were filled with such memories. Every single one I can recall so clearly. They are all alike and to an onlooker might be nothing dear…but to me…they are as important as the subject of those remembrances himself. Although, I know at the time—as I chuckle to myself—I took them for granted and at a point was terrified by what they might signal…but 'tis that not how it always is?

When one is young…it feels like the end of the world. When truly…'tis only the beginning. I might've realized that too late, were it not for him. I might've died without ever knowing what true love can feel like—really, honestly feel. But now…even if I died without ever finishing this story…I wouldn't mind. I would join him…and I would have known what on earth…love is like.

I look at the diary beside me and my smile saddens. My only regret is that the ones who so fervently guided us and helped us assure our happiness had the chance to have what we have…to have been able to feel a love that is only possible once.

I have no regrets to that, though. I know that I can write their story down alongside mine, where it belongs. I do not know whether in future generations…love will be accepted and welcome no matter between people of different race…or gender…or age …or merely two people. Love is love. And if 'tis indeed permitted in the future…I hope that this will teach. This story.

I stand up slowly, old age in every fiber of my bones, and reach to the left bookshelf to take a sleek, black, box the size of my head and place it on the desk, pushing it up against the wall. I open the top with my wrinkled fingers and place it to the side. The contents within are old. Only twenty or so years younger than I myself am. There are thirteen pieces inside. I take the first one out of its velvet cushion. A silver star no larger and no smaller than the size of one's thumbnail, and no thicker than an envelope.

Upon it, a letter is engraved: the letter F.

I lay it out beside me, and pick up my quill once again.

* * *

It's the middle of February. Only last night did it snow. I made over fifteen house calls for colds, fevers, and a few births. All the newborns survived, as well as their mothers, but five of the fevered children did not make it through the night. There was once a time when this would have bothered me to the point where I could not eat properly for a week, but now, I cannot even remember the children's names, anymore.

I'm seated on my bed. This time of day, I should best be calling on Sakura, but even I wouldn't be good company after all those house calls. A profession when it seems as though you are doing more harm than good does not help at all—and it helps less when the parents or ill start insisting leeches and traditional remedies that will harm not heal. If you refuse to comply to what they believe will heal their children or their selves, they will not only refuse to pay you, but ban you from their house.

My head is in my hands, the stress circulating the inside of my mind and pressing against the walls sorely. I rub my eyes and look up slowly in a pitiful attempt to prevent anymore aching. My coat and cloak are on the bedpost and I'm simply in my most bare breeches and mussed linen shirt. The ribbon that holds my hair back has loosened and is nearly slipped completely. As I make my way down the creaking wooden stairs, there is yet another knock on my door, and I pray to the Lord that it isn't another father or brother or son or errand boy asking for a house call.

The Lord hears me, apparently. Kurogane stands with his cloak, amidst the heavy snowfall. The sky has already darkened, and there is a lantern at his right hand. His eyes are glowing red from beneath his hood. "Might I come in?"

I step aside and allow him entrance. The door clangs into place with a push, and I turn to survey my caller—who is now stomping out the snow from his boots directly onto my floor and throwing his cloak onto my parlor sofa. "Good afternoon," I say. "Thank you for the lovely gift."

He frowns at me, turning. "I don't recall giving you a gift."

I indicate the snowy mush with a nod. He scowls. I smile. "Never mind that. Why have you come? I would expect you to be encumbered warmly in your house with your cousins and Mrs. Shiyu at this time of day."

"We already dined," he said shortly, blowing out his lantern and placing it on the wooden table near the door. "Have you? Kusanagi has told me about your onslaught of house calls this day."

"I have," I reply, taking his coat from the sofa and hanging on the carved rack. "But you haven't yet answered my question. Why have you come?"

He shifts from one foot to another and then turns away to stare into the depths of my parlor—the room is dim since I haven't lit any candles. There is no reason to for my lack of entertaining. "Could I sit?"

"Do."

He sits.

I remain standing opposite him. "Well?"

Kurogane looks up at me and narrows his eyes. "I have something for you. A late Christmas gift, if you'd call it. You've practically given me Nieve, as I ride him at liberty nowadays…and Kusanagi has had a talk with me about…that or another…'tis good for my silversmith skills…anyhow…"

"You're rambling, Kurogane," I laugh, making him scowl harder, until his expression was that of great concentration.

"Just…take it," he shoves a black, velvet box toward me. I hold it in my hand and take a seat on the edge of the armrest of the chaise lounge he himself sits on.

"What is it?" For some reason, I'm acutely aware of the precise way his elbow is directly beside my thigh. And then, I'm even more aware of how in the candlelight—from his angle—Kurogane can see exactly everything behind my thin, white shirt…it's merely an undergarment, after all. I should have changed. It's indecent to appear such as this before a guest.

Kurogane hesitates for a moment and then glances briefly at me. "Open it, if you'd like to know."

I undo the tiny gilded clasp and open the small, clothed box. My brow furrows at the sight of the content: A delicate, little, silver star is nestled amongst the rich, dark velvet cushion. An engraving is welded into it…I peer closer and see that it is the letter F.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "For my name?"

He scoffs. "Vanity is a sin. No, 'tis not for your name. 'Tis…'tis…'tis a…sort of puzzle. A series of…something. You'll have to wait. 'Tis a work that I must progress on. I suppose it can be called a set."

"So there is more?"

He takes a deep breath. "There is. I'm still working on it."

I flash a smile at him. "Then I cannot wait to see it when finished."

Kurogane stares at me, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled in the way that he scowls infinitesimally. But I've noticed that Kurogane is simply one of those people who perpetually scowl at all times. It's not as though they can control it…their character is just that way.

But I want him to leave. It seems as though I'm treating him with friendly courtesies and gestures, but truly, at this very moment, I'm in great restraint. I do not even know what I'm restraining, but there is something there…and I'm restraining it. I do not even know why I'm restraining whatever it is. There is just…being with Kurogane like this…speaking to him…conversing…feeling what I felt when he gave me such an item…it felt too comfortable. It felt too good, and I like it too much—more than I should.

I don't know why I do. But…I know…my mind knows that he must leave. Now. He must leave before something in me roots me to him too deeply to uproot it. The feeling is too a point where it's no longer possible to ignore. But before I can solve it and untangle and disband whatever this anomaly is…first…what _is_ it?

But at that time, just when I was about to figure out precisely what "it" was…something…an occurrence…an event…happened.

Kurogane kisses me.

He kisses me.

Just kisses me. Spontaneously, randomly, unexpectedly…and just…he just kisses me. Not a quick kiss…nor a long, slow passionate one…but in between. A kiss.

And I strike him. With my fist.

My entire body is frozen in that one moment. I can neither feel nor process in my mind what has just happened. All I know is that my fist has made contact with Kurogane's face, and Kurogane staggered half way out of the seat, and I am to the wall.

But just as quickly as the color in my face and Kurogane's and all thoughts have rushed out…everything comes rushing back in an avalanche. And then I am screaming. I am bellowing and roaring and shouting and raving and ranting and—

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I yell. "What in the Good Lord's name and all that is holy and sacred was that? What was that? Tell me in precise words what exactly in hell's name that was!"

Kurogane now even looks threatened—not frightened, but threatened. And hurt. The hurt on his face—the confusion and uncertainty—they were all imprinted forever into my mind. Something tells me that it was unplanned…this action…and that he did not know what he did as far as I did. "I…do…I don't know." His eyes scorch. "Do not speak of this to Kusanagi. I beg you."

My breathing calms, and I shook my head. "'Twas a kiss, Kurogane. Why? Are you insulting me? As a man? Are you challenging me to a duel? What do you want, Kurogane?"

He closes his eyes, and stands up.

"Leave my house," I say, pointing to the door. I can't feel my face…I don't know what expression I'm wearing, and I can only guess from what Kurogane's face looks like. "I think 'tis best if you don't return. Please. I won't speak of this…matter to your cousin. 'Twould disgrace Sakura as much me."

Kurogane closes his eyes again and when he opens them, they keep to the floor. He turns and removes his cloak from the wooden hook. I know that I should take the silver star and return it to him, but my arm and hand do not obey me. Neither does something inside of me.

I watch him leave, the door closing with a sickening finality behind him.

* * *

It only takes two weeks in passing for me to come to the worst possible outcome of the situation. It only takes those same two weeks for me to listen to my body as a doctor and know that something is devastatingly wrong, sinful, and unnatural about it. Two weeks for my mind. Two weeks for my body. I don't know how long for my heart.

But I do know that Kurogane knows he has done wrong, for those two weeks I go to ride Fuego, and Nieve is pining for Kurogane. Kamui and Subaru always tell me that he has not come, and that Nieve dearly needs him. I could use the delusion that I am merely doing this for my horse, but I am not that dimwitted.

I am also not dimwitted enough to know that I should never be allowed to step foot in a church again—I should be excommunicated. This is wrong, and I know it. I know so well how wrong this is, but I have to acknowledge it. I can acknowledge it and perhaps…just mayhap…I could…ignore it. Or find a way to overcome it. I want to. I don't want this. I don't even know why or how this could be true. But it is.

I stand about three feet from the door of the Shiyu household for nearly an hour, watching passers-by walk and twirling my hat 'round and 'round again in my gloved hands. The snow has melted, and the tiniest hints of spring have started to brave the frigid weather.

I don't even know what I am to do once I go in. I just know that it wouldn't be fair. This isn't fair…if…Kurogane and I…at the least…I should help him…sort out what this terror is. Something like this…it isn't even possible to go to confession. The priest will be disgusted. I sigh, step forward a few paces, and knock the door, hoping that my expression does not give off the impression that I am walking to my death.

The recent happenings…a British collector getting tarred and feathered…and the rumors of yet another act being passed upon us for punishment of the Boston Tea Party. Mayhap even closing the Boston port—all of this has made the people restless. Every side is nearly taken now. There is even…talk of rebellion.

Were Kurogane and I still on speaking terms…this we would have discussed endlessly…debated and argued. I don't want to admit it. I don't want to do what I find myself doing, but I must. I…

And yet, 'tis he who opens the door himself. His eyes widen, and I can tell that he is about to open his mouth to announce my calling, but I silence him swiftly and quietly, "Please," I say softly, "Don't tell them. Just…could you excuse yourself and come out? I'll be quick—you have my word."

Kurogane goes back in for a minute and then returns with his cloak and a lantern. He closes the door quietly behind him, and then gestures with his head. I follow him to where he leads me.

He brings me around to the fringe of the forest—just barely edging away from the town, but deep enough so the light from the lantern cannot be seen by anyone loitering at the tip of the housing and shops. I can only see his back. I pull my hood further down over my eyes and keep my sight to the ground.

The grass crunches beneath our feet and we are careful to bring any attention—sidestepping the branches and other forest debris. We are going deeper and deeper into the forest; the sounds of animals are not present. They have all slept for the winter. Come spring, they'll return.

Kurogane stops abruptly and turns around, the ever-present scowl dark on his face. We stare at each other for a moment longer, and the atmosphere is choking like a noose. I swallow and he puts the lantern down on a nearby boulder, carefully assuring that it will not touch any trees. He faces me again and I lower my eyes. Slowly, and wordlessly, he takes my face in both of his large, silversmith's hands, and brings my face to his.

And this time…I let him.

His lips come down on mine hesitantly. They taste like alcohol. When our mouths are against one another…when his arm snakes around my waist, and my own wrap around his neck…when our bodies are pressing…when our tongues collide…I can't bring myself to even care that this is a sin—in so many more ways than one.

I know that he, too, knows how wrong this is—how two men are not to be together…how we will go to hell for this surely…how I'm disgracing my engagement with Sakura…how this will hurt both of us…everything…all of this…it's all so wrong—

But it feels so right. It feels too right.

Fire. Heat. Warmth so hot that it almost feels icy. Burning. Smoldering. Scorching and scarring. All of it. So much to feel at once…but…even if I've only felt it just now…I know how rare it must be to be able to have this. I want it. I want to have this—have him—forever. Right then and there.

But I couldn't. I can't ignore him, but nor could I act upon it.

We drew apart, and his arms remain resting on my hips, and my hands on his face. My thumb strokes over his cheek, over his jaw and lips. Two men together such as this—shameful, disgusting, loathsome. But why?

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine, one of his hands tightening in my hair, fisting the strands. I can feel his breath against my mouth, and I tilt my head up to touch my lips with his again—just briefly.

I don't know what this is. I don't know why this is happening—why this is happening to us—or what will become of all of this…I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen, and I am frightened. Terrified.

I don't even know what I feel. What he feels.

But I know that I can't ignore this any longer. I can't.

* * *

_A/N: I don't know if that was dramatic enough for you....but it....oh, whatever. Lol. There'll be more drama to come, I assure you of that. _

_Review Button._


	10. Forbidden

_"So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew, so close your eyes. Escape this town for a little while."_

_--"Love Story" by Taylor Swift_

* * *

Chapter Eight: Forbidden

Sakura smiles at me and spins around, the skirts of her summer dress brushing against the wooden floor of Clow's summer home, which the Shiyu family and I have been invited to spend the warm weather. "You look lovely," I say, returning the smile.

"'Tis Miss Ichihara that does all the work," she laughs. "I simply have to wear it and somehow pull her magnificent designs off."

Amaterasu has also brought Kamui, and Kamui brought Fuego and Nieve at my request. We have been at the summerhouse for nearly a month. The July weather is already sweltering, but come August, I do believe I shall wither away into ashes. The Kinomoto family invited their own close acquaintance: Yukito Tsukishiro. But the guest list did not end there; Tomoyo invited along one of Kusanagi's apprentices, Syaoran Li.

But Clow Reed is known for his generosity and graciousness, meaning that all were welcome as long as they were friends of his friends, friends of his family, or simply just his friends.

There are certainly more than enough rooms to suffice for this crowd. My room is fortunately located directly across from Sakura's in the curve of the upstairs level and beside Touya's. Touya never comes from his room after we sup, and Sakura is always outdoors until Souma or Tomoyo drag her back in before sundown. But that isn't even near why I am so fortunate to have the room I have.

The room I have has two windows, both which face the back of the house, and therefore, face the forest. One of the windows is directly above the window of the kitchen—which is nearly never used, as the slaves and maids prepare food in the smaller house across the main one—and that same window happens to have a rather thick, and tall ledge coming out from the top.

A ledge easily used as a step.

Even in the dead of the night, it isn't difficult to locate the step, perch one's foot against it and swing oneself down. 'Tis even easier when one must only lightly touch the ledge before dropping down onto a horse, saddled and ready.

"The dress does not outshine you in anyway," I say amiably, offering her my arm. "But you look wearied, darling. You didn't eat much supper, either. Are you turning in for an early night?"

She wraps her fingers around my elbow, and allows me to walk her up the stairs and we stand in the doorway of her bedroom. "I suppose I am. 'Tis the heat, you know," she widens her eyes. "It's so dreadful. I must wear all these skirts—and even the lightest cannot bring anymore breeze, lest I appear indecent."

I try to look understanding of the mundane matter. "Of course. Well…" my heart is already beginning to thump. "I wish you a good night and sweet dreams."

The moment she has finished smiling and has closed the door, I walk quickly into my room, and lock the door—bolting it shut, tightly. I step to my bed and begin undressing, until I'm in my barest clothing, and place the clothes I've just shed beneath the sheets of the bed. I then lie bend down and swipe my hand underneath the bed until I touch the hard coil of rope, and pull it out. I look at it oddly. I could've sworn it'd been three feet longer, as I stretch it out.

But there is no time to waste, as I can already hear him approaching out the window. I secure the rope around the bedpost and hoist myself slowly over the ledge of the window, with my foot firmly on the upper edge of the bottom window's steeple-like roof. I glance below me and shove the rope back into the window at the same time I let go and place one foot on the hard, leather of Fuego's saddle.

Kurogane has Fuego's reins in one hand, while he himself is seated upon Nieve, whom I've never seen so content in all the time I've owned him. I look at Kurogane and my eyes aren't given anything short. Just looking at him is a novelty. I myself in my barest clothes would only serve to emphasize on how I, as Souma phrases it, "need fat on his bones and color in his skin". Whereas the sleeves of Kurogane's shirt are rolled up to emphasize on the deft fingers and contoured arms that came with his trade, and his breeches are strained all the more by how he saddles Nieve.

Please forgive me Father, 'tis been…a while…since my last confession…

I jest. Although, I shouldn't. There is nothing remotely amusing about looking at another man's crotch. It isn't only vulgar, but it is unnatural, wrong, disgusting, loathsome, against nature, a sin…and so many, many others.

But help it…I cannot.

I settle myself onto Fuego, and wordlessly gaze at Kurogane's face. In the dim light of the lantern, I can just make out the expression on his edged features. He holds up the lantern to illuminate my own face, and his eyes search me. He raises his eyebrows just the littlest bit and I smile. "Let's."

* * *

I allow the feather of my quill to tickle my chin, as I pause and tilt my head, looking thoughtfully at the paper. I've contemplated how best to bring about this scene. It's the most crucial scene—the most critical part—of the story. I never was a writer. That was never I. Drama…shock…I could never instigate those feelings in another person unless it is caused solely because of their reactions to me. But I think I might know how to craft this one into something resembling what it felt like—what it was.

But for that, I need assistance. And inspiration.

I turn the pages of the diary until I find the respective date, and I reach in to extricate the next piece. A silver star of the exact shape and precise size of the one before it. I remove it from it's fitted cushion and place it beside it's companion—the thin, little silver arms click into place like puzzle pieces. I look at the two stars linked together. The star that I just put in also has a letter engraved upon it: the letter R.

* * *

Just outside of Williamsburg. July 28th, 1774.

Clow Reed Kinomoto's Summerhouse.

The Forest behind the main house.

Yukito stands against the tree, his eyes focused on the man before him—the shadowed figure outlined by the lantern at his hand. The night is pitch black, and the insects are buzzing in the high grass that reaches to their knees. Yukito raises his own lantern to illuminate the man's face. Touya Kinomoto's raven eyes stone back at him.

"I apologize for calling you out." Yukito says quietly. "Will you speak to me?"

Touya only continues to stare pointlessly. "Give me a damned reason why I should, and I'll consider the matter. But I advise that you not raise your hopes. Just as you raised mine, and then ran away to New York."

Yukito's eyes close behind his glasses. He sighs and brings the lantern down from face level. He doesn't want to see the emptiness—the disappointment, hurt and anger—in those eyes. He doesn't want to see it and know that it was he himself who brought all of this about. He just wants to make Touya understand that if he hadn't left Williamsburg…he…he just wants to make Touya understand that with Yukito gone, both Touya and Sakura would be able to have a chance a real future.

He himself always knew what he wanted to be when he became an adult. But he also knew just as well how Touya never had anything particular in mind. Yukito hoped that those words Touya said to him were just something thrown out in the heat of their trysts. Yukito never thought that those words were true, and even when they were, Yukito doesn't want them to be. He loves and hates those few sentences—those tiny sentiments once said to him more than he could imagine.

"I thought I was forgiven," Yukito murmurs. "Wasn't that what you last said to me? That you forgave me for what I had to do."

Touya looks up at him incredulously. "At the very least, you chose to leave. I was the one that was left. I was the one who didn't have a choice at possibly never seeing you again before I died. You left me. You weren't moving. You left me. I don't know what I could have done to you—said to you—that made you want to leave except for one thing. One thing, Yukito."

"And pray tell, what is that one?" Yukito has a childish urge to clamp his hands over his ears and pretend he isn't listening.

"Intercourse." Touya says, teeth held tightly, "And those words. The ones you asked me to take back. The ones that I now believe started those errantly, foolishly, ridiculously, stupid, selfish thoughts to leave Virginia in the first place."

Yukito's mouth hangs open. He cannot believe this. He cannot believe that Touya thinks so low of him as to suggest that he believes Yukito ran away because they warmed each other's beds. But he couldn't deny the words. Those words were precisely the thing that alerted him to leave. "'All my life, I wanted to stay a boy and never decide what kind of man I want to be,'" Yukito quotes softly, "'Or what I want to be as a man. But you…and this…you made me think…made me know and consider…that…'" Yukito takes a deep breath, "'That maybe becoming a man wouldn't be so terrible.'"

"You recall them better than I, the one who said those words, could," Touya's mouth pulls up into a half-smile. "But enlighten me. I don't understand how those words alone could have made you believe you needed to leave."

"I knew that you never wanted to stop being a child," Yukito says, closing his eyes and not opening them. "'Twas your personality—your character. 'Twas simply you. But…me…for me…for me as a man…a _man_…to have changed one of the most permanent, defining aspects of you…for me to redefine such a certain part of you…it frightened me. Terrified me out of my sane mind. And so I fled."

Touya reaches out to touch the closed eyelids behind the spectacles—to remove the glasses with his teeth and run his lips over the span of Yukito's forehead. But before he could do so, there is an audible echo—an audible male human sound.

Yukito's eyes snap open and he meets Touya's eyes, horrified. If anyone saw this sight…if anyone found out…both would be hard pressed to conjure an excuse…something to veer them from finding out…

But the sounds are not voices talking.

Touya jerks his head to one side, gesturing for them to trace it to its source. Yukito nods, and covers one side of his lantern just as Touya does—to avoid the light giving them away as they walked near. Their steps are muted by the grass and slightly damp earth. It is easy for them to dodge the near invisible trees in the dark. They are more than used to keeping quiet and unfounded.

However, the two men they discover apparently are not used to it at all.

* * *

I stare at the small black velvet box Kurogane has placed in my hand—once we dismounted from Fuego and Nieve and had tied them to trees and kept them silent. Within the box is a star precisely like the one he gave me before. Only on this one the letter 'R' is engraved. There is a small slit in one of the arms. Kurogane sees me observing this. "'Tis to fit into place with the one I gave you before. They'll fit like a puzzle piece."

"There are more?" I ask. "Where will you get the expenses to pay for this? A project for yourself shouldn't cost you so much. You'll need ever bit of money for when you finish your apprenticeship."

"Kusanagi gives me enough," he says, stepping closer until he and I are front to front. "Just…just take it. You have to."

I laugh. "Oh, so now I must? 'Tis not even a choice anymore?"

"No," he responds in a lofty snarl. "Take the damned star." He puts his hand beneath mine—the one I'm holding the star with—and closes it into a fist. He uses that same hand to pull me in and crush our lips together. I inhale from his mouth, and he takes the opening to slip his tongue in.

I couldn't have refused. It would have been rude.

He slides his mouth from mine to my throat, his fingers in my hair, moving my head aside so he can brush his lips messily up and down the pale, white column. The lantern lies forgotten, aside. Somehow, the dark makes it that much more thrilling—heightens the sense of foreboding.

But at the time, neither Kurogane nor I knew that things were usually forbidden for good reason, and then when some scenario had the sense of foreboding, it was most likely not just a sense.

We didn't realize that until that night, when Kurogane straightened away from me slowly, only to have me look in the same direction he was:

Touya—my future brother-in-law—and Yukito Tsukishiro, the ex-fiance of my future wife stood there watching, their faces stupefied, and a lantern held up to glow straight into our faces.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it's been a long time. Intrigue is easier to update than this one here because it's way easier to write the way people in the 21st century do than in the 18th, especially if you're from the 21st. 0_0 Anyhoo, if you haven't already, check the update on my profile: It's good news for those who like Intrigue better than Rule (like I do, because even though its fun, it's still...challenging to write this, which I suppose is good for me). And guess what. My high school placement tests have come back. They're...okay to me. I scored all high in the National Percentile....but my actual scores ranged from below average to high. Most of my maths were above average to low average, and all of my vocab and writing and languages and grammar were high. Gee. I wonder what that says about me. Lol._


	11. Regret

_"You were Romeo. You were throwing pebbles, and my daddy said, 'Stay away from Juliet!'"_

_--"Love Story" by Taylor Swift_

* * *

Chapter Nine: Regret

At first, there is no sound upon her lips, whether theirs or ours. When something truly shocks one, usually one's mindset needs a sort of moment to gather composure. And a situation such as this…'tis not the fact so much that there is composure needed to be gathered rather than the fact that none of us quite knows whether we should move along our merry way and act as though it never happened, or be men and face it.

Touya is the first one to move. In retrospect, I believe that his action then is proof that the body can indeed move without the mind. He begins to shout—rant and rave about the fact that I'm besmirching Sakura's honor, making a mockery of everything engagement stands for and all other curses to his family and I do believe he would've went on were it not for the fact that Kurogane walks up to him and strikes him so hard, he doubles over and falls.

"If you dare say another word," Kurogane says quietly—because I've learned that his growling is none but a sign of his joy, and when he's angry, his voice becomes the deadliest calm. "I will assure you that your family's honor will not be all that shall be punctured."

Even though I know that I deserve everything Touya has just screamed at me, I say nothing. I can't bring myself to meet his eyes. But I can bring myself to meet Yukito's, and his eyes are naught but shocked and saddened. I understand fully why he might be shocked, but I cannot fathom why there is sadness. Surely, he can feel anger and disappointment and condemnation, but why would there be sadness?

Kurogane looks at me, his eyes are so bright in the darkness—so filled with fury and not even the slightest bit worried about the fact that we've been discovered—that they dizzy me. I know that I have to speak soon. I step forward and smile as best I can—a beatific smile to calm Touya. To pacify him, perhaps.

Touya stands up, staggering, and I glimpse Yukito twitch toward him. Yukito reins himself in. He stills into himself. It looks like he wishes to help his companion. But he doesn't want to touch him. I take another step forward. Touya speaks first. He glares at me. "What it is that you are about to say will not make a difference. I am breaking your engagement with Sakura first thing at the morrow."

I ignore that. "And pray tell, what are you two doing out in the forest at the witching hour?"

Kurogane shifts from foot to foot behind me. Touya takes a step. "You haven't a right to question our reasons for going about. I listen not to those who indulge in devilish gifts—who indulge in sin."

That holds fast to my heart. But I continue to smile because I watch as Yukito—the sight unbidden to Touya—looks down at the ground and shuts his eyes, as if he is enduring some great, unbearable pain. It is not my place to judge others, but I would have said that it is Touya's words that hurt Yukito the most. "That isn't an answer."

Kurogane is close enough now that his shoulder is with mine. His hand touches my wrist, and his eyes, I can see, are staring straight for Touya. They are no longer furious. "Lying is a sin," the apprentice says, addressing Touya. "It is against the eighth commandment, and yet you are doing it. You'll not break the engagement. I know you'll not. You also have no place in telling is wrong from right. Especially you. 'Tis not your place to tell."

Yukito's fingers reach out for Touya's shoulder—Touya doesn't see—but then he takes them back and presses his hand to his own chest. "Listen to him," he says softly. "Leave them be. Please." Touya turns around and looks at Yukito for the longest of times, unspeaking and as far as Kurogane and I can tell, expressionless.

It does not seem, but my heart is beating like the drums of war within my chest. Having Kurogane this close—his heat—does nothing for me save for causing the blood to rush, not only to my head, but other places of my body. Places that blood only should rush to for a woman. It frightens and exhilarates. I do not quite know which. I thought that a kiss is merely juvenile. But…any more…and it really will be a sin. I am terrified.

Touya turns back to us. Like Kurogane, his eyes are now no longer angry. Rather, they are as sad as Yukito's. They are almost begging. "If you would forget all I said about honor and such," he said, shaking his head, "and simply do not do this." He addresses me now, "Fai, if you are unhappy with the engagement, simply request of my father to break it. That is all. It'll not be of any insult or offense to Sakura nor our family. Please. But, by the heavens, do not do what you are going about presently."

"Why?" Kurogane's voice is defiant.

Touya looks again to Yukito—who is determinedly watching the lantern—and looks back to Kurogane. "It will do nothing but ruin you. There is a reason that men should not love men. No marriage, no children, no union…what then is to it? 'Tis ridiculous."

My hand slides into Kurogane's to stop him from attacking at Touya's words. Or, that is what I assumed Kurogane would do. But he doesn't. He doesn't even attempt. He merely raises his head a fraction, and snorts. He snorts right at Touya's words of meaning. He snorts and raises an eyebrow and says, "Matters not if 'tis ridiculous or unproductive. 'Tis about the freedom that we might do it anyway."

"Freedom does not always equal happiness," Yukito says quietly.

Kurogane is undaunted. "But with freedom, you'll never regret."

* * *

_A/N: It's probably the shortest chapter I've ever posted, but I thought (after rereading this and the reviews/pleas) that better short than not at all. So here it is. After countless months and agonizing over whether I should continue this (or am able to) or not, and I've finally found the secret to continuing fics. You find a song that keeps you writing and listen to it while you're writing, even if it means putting the song on eternal repeat. This also means that all of you who don't like Taylor Swift or her song Love Story had better start liking it because it's what gave you this chapter. _


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